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The Fiancée Caper
Maureen Child
To Catch a Thief, It Will Take a Thief He comes from a long line of charismatic jewel thieves. But Gianni Coretti made a deal to save his family and now walks the straight and narrow. When Marie O’Hara, a beautiful security expert, asks him to steal for her as part of a sting, his interest is definitely piqued. The fact that she’ll be pretending to be his fiancée is an added bonus. But as their fierce attraction blurs the line between ruse and reality, Gianni has to wonder: does a man with such a dubious past deserve a glorious future with this woman?
“As you wish.”
“You’ll come to Tesoro with me.” Gianni stood up, scowling at having all choice snatched from him. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered, but damned if he hadn’t been this time. “We leave in three days.”
“Three days?” She chewed at her bottom lip and he knew what she was thinking. How could she keep an eye on him from her hotel—wherever that was?
He’d thought the same and there really was only one solution to this entire situation. “You’ll stay here.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’ll need the three days to practice,” he told her.
“To practice what?”
His gaze flashed to hers. Finally, there was doubt in her eyes. “Why, to practice being a couple.”
“A couple of what?”
Her voice hitched higher and Gianni enjoyed her outrage.
“My family will never accept my bringing a stranger along to my new nephew’s christening …” He paused for effect, and watching her reaction was entirely worth it when he added, “So for the next week or so, you’re going to be my loving fiancée.”
The Fiancée
Caper
Maureen Child
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon
Desire™ line and can’t imagine a better job. Being able to indulge your love for romance, as well as being able to spin stories just the way you want them told is, in a word, perfect.
A seven-time finalist for the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Maureen is the author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on the bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill.
One of her books, The Soul Collector, was made into a CBS TV movie starring Melissa Gilbert, Bruce Greenwood and Ossie Davis. If you look closely, in the last five minutes of the movie, you’ll spot Maureen, who was an extra in the last scene.
Maureen believes that laughter goes hand in hand with love, so her stories are always filled with humor. The many letters she receives assure her that her readers love to laugh as much as she does.
Maureen Child is a native Californian, but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah. She loves a new adventure, though the thought of having to deal with snow for the first time is a little intimidating.
To my son, Jason … who would make a fabulous romance hero!
I love you.
Contents
Cover (#u7b78fc1a-73d4-5a2c-83dd-0ebb98a8b224)
Introduction (#u599e0ddb-c225-5c6f-9ff8-c40fbe0eb397)
Title Page (#u629b82f8-b8e8-50f8-b54c-bb8c4984b0fe)
About the Author (#u2b76b463-7a51-589b-b76b-52ce97b00d10)
Dedication (#ue7800aaf-e11b-5e22-b726-714a8225aabf)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Extract
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u7571f912-203c-580d-96c0-fc94e308a684)
“Papa was behind the Van Court emerald theft last week, wasn’t he?” Gianni Coretti kept his voice low as he looked across the table at his brother, Paulo.
The other man shrugged, took a sip of his scotch and smiled faintly. “You know Papa.”
Gianni scowled and shoved one hand through his hair. That answer was deliberately vague, he told himself. Yet he hadn’t really expected anything different. Of course Paulo would side with their father.
Letting his gaze slide from his brother’s, Gianni looked out at the well-lit, exquisitely tended lawns of Vinley Hall. Crouched in the heart of Hampshire, on the southern coast of England, the luxury hotel was always the Coretti family’s inn of choice—not only for its innate elegance, but also for its convenience to Blackthorn private airfield.
The Corettis never flew commercial.
Today, Gianni was taking his brother to Blackthorn for a short flight to his home in Paris. On the way, of course, they had stopped for a drink. Paulo had been in London visiting for three days and frankly, to Gianni, it had felt like three years. He didn’t care for visitors, not even family. And Paulo in particular could push Gianni to the ends of his patience faster than anyone else he knew.
A waitress in a black skirt and smart white shirt made her way across what was once Vinley Hall’s library and now served as an elegant bar. In response to her presence, Gianni switched from English to Italian as he reminded his brother, “You and Papa do remember that just a year ago I bargained with Interpol to get us all immunity for past thefts?”
Paulo shuddered visibly and took another sip of scotch before replying in Italian. “Being that close to that many police? Don’t know how you managed—or for that matter why you bothered.” He set the heavy crystal tumbler down onto the polished oak table and ran his fingertips around the rim. His gaze locked on his brother’s. “We didn’t ask for immunity.”
True. They hadn’t asked. But Gianni had secured that promise of safety for them anyway. Unfortunately, his family not only didn’t appreciate it, but they were also appalled at the thought of giving up the “family business.”
The Corettis had been jewel thieves for centuries. Skills were handed down from one generation to the next. Secrets and tricks of the trade were taught to children who grew into adults with quick hands, quicker minds and the ability to slip in and out of locked doors without leaving a trace of their presence.
There were police on every continent of the globe who would give anything for one iota of evidence against the Corettis. But so far, the family hadn’t just been good, they’d been lucky. And Gianni was convinced their luck, eventually, would run out.
Try to tell that to a Coretti, though.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Paulo asked.
“About what?” Irritation colored Gianni’s tone.
Paulo snorted. “This new life of honesty and goodness, of course.”
That irritation inside him flared brighter. “You make it sound as if I’m becoming a—” he paused to think of the best way to put it “—Boy Scout.”
Laughing, Paulo asked, “Aren’t you?”
For a year they had been talking about this and still his brother and father didn’t understand Gianni’s decision. But then, he told himself, it was hardly surprising. A legacy of thievery didn’t usually lend itself to suddenly becoming a law-abiding citizen. But Gianni had had an epiphany of sorts more than a year ago.
His sister, Teresa, thank the gods, understood, because she had chosen years ago to leave behind their family traditions. But Teresa was the only one to understand, because the changes he had made to his life had not only perplexed most of his family, but also, at times, himself.
“You have a job now, Gianni.” Paulo gave a dramatic shudder again as if the very thought of being employed shook him to his soul. “Corettis do not have jobs. We go on jobs. There is a difference.”
Across the room, a fire burned in a stone hearth, casting flickering shadows on the oak-paneled walls. Outside the casement windows, stately trees rattled their leaves in the near constant English wind. It was a perfectly pleasant room that normally he would have enjoyed. If he weren’t faced with talking to his hardheaded brother.
“And that difference could send my family to prison.”
“It hasn’t yet,” Paulo reminded him with a smug smile.
No, it hadn’t. But Dominick Coretti—Gianni’s father—was getting older. And even the best of men lost some of their skills with age. Not that Nick would ever admit to such a thing. So Gianni had arranged for his father’s safety because there was simply no chance his papa would survive a prison sentence.
Of course, that hadn’t been the only reason Gianni had, as his father continued to phrase it, “betrayed his very heritage.” While being a world-renowned thief had its perks, it also wasn’t without its downsides. For example, having to look over your shoulder your entire life.
Gianni wanted something else.
And if his father and brother kept screwing up, Gianni’s future was in jeopardy, too. In spite of the deal he’d made with certain agents of Interpol, if it was proven that the Coretti family was still making off with the jewels of Europe, he had no doubt that his deal would be broken and that his new “friends” would find a way to lump him in with his family.
“You worry too much, Gianni,” Paulo offered. “We are Corettis.”
“I know who we are, Paulo.”
“Do you?” Tipping his head to one side, the other man studied Gianni for a long moment before saying, “I think you’ve forgotten. And when you finally remember, you will leave this new life of yours behind—eagerly.”
Gianni finished his own drink, then stared at his brother. “I know exactly who I am. Who we all are. I gave my word in exchange for the immunity, Paulo.”
He snorted again. “To the police.”
As if that didn’t matter.
“It’s my word,” Gianni growled. “And the deal I struck with Interpol only includes past crimes. If you or Papa are caught now...”
“Again you worry.” Paulo shook his head. “We will not be caught. We are never caught. Besides, you know Papa. He could no more stop stealing than he could stop breathing.”
“I know.” Gianni wished he could order another scotch. But once Paulo was on the plane to Paris, he himself would be driving back to his home in Mayfair. And he really didn’t need a cop pulling him over for weaving along the streets.
His expression must have been easy to read since Paulo laughed again. “Papa is who he is, Gianni. Also, Lady Van Court was practically begging someone to take those stones.”
And the ease of the job would have been impossible for his father to resist. With a sigh, he said, “When you see him, tell Papa to lay low for a while at least until the reporters move on from covering the theft. In fact, if you have to, lock him in the closet at your place.”
Paulo laughed, finished his scotch and set the glass down again before standing. “I won’t even respond to that last idea, as we both know that it would take more than a simple lock to hold our father when he doesn’t wish to be held.”
“True enough,” Gianni mumbled. He stood up and followed his brother out the door and along the gravel drive to Gianni’s car. The airport was a short drive from the inn and all too soon, the brothers were standing on the tarmac with an icy British wind buffeting them.
“Watch your back out there in the world of respectability, brother,” Paulo said.
“Watch your own,” Gianni told him, pulling his brother in for a hard, brief hug. “And Papa’s as well.”
“Always,” Paulo assured him, then picked up his bag, turned and headed for the private jet waiting for him.
Gianni didn’t stay to watch the plane take off. Instead, he walked back to his car and drove home to his new life.
* * *
“So,” Marie O’Hara whispered into the darkened silence, “clearly, crime pays pretty well.”
She was in a position to know, since she was, at the moment, sneaking through the private lair of one of the world’s most notorious jewel thieves. Her stomach jumped with nerves and breathing wasn’t easy. All of her life, she’d followed the rules, obeyed the law, and tonight, she’d thrown all of that away for a chance at justice. Sadly, that thought didn’t help the nerves much. But she was here now and she was determined to search the place quickly and thoroughly.
After following Gianni Coretti for weeks, studying his habits, she was fairly sure the man would be gone for hours, but there was no sense in taking chances.
Marie didn’t turn on any lights; she didn’t want to risk it. Though the chances of neighbors spotting her slinking through his apartment were slim to none. Gianni Coretti’s luxury flat was a tenth-floor penthouse with a spectacular view of London. There was a glass wall of windows displaying that view and letting in enough moonlight that lamps weren’t really necessary anyway.
“It’s pretty but it’s more like a contemporary museum than a home,” Marie murmured as she walked across the gleaming, white marble floor. The whole place was white. It was like walking through a marshmallow, except it had too many sharp angles and harsh lines to be that soft and comfy. Shaking her head, she left the sterile, if beautiful, living room behind and continued on through a long hall. The marble ran throughout the flat and her heels made light, quick taps on its surface. She winced at every tiny sound as if it were a bullhorn announcing her presence.
Her short black skirt, sky-high heels and red silk shirt weren’t exactly designed for stealth. But she’d had to get past the security guard/doorman and she’d had to dress the part of one of Coretti’s many assignations. That was lowering, but it had gotten her past the thief’s first line of defense.
The kitchen was as austere and off-putting as the rest of the place. It looked as though it had never been used—restaurant-grade stove and sub-zero fridge notwithstanding. Just off that kitchen was a dining room with a—surprise—glass table, surrounded by six ghost chairs, so that it looked as though there was nothing there even though it took up quite a bit of room.
Shaking her head at the fact that the wrong people had all the money, Marie moved on, headed past two guest rooms and straight for the master bedroom. The closer she got, the faster nerves swam in the pit of her stomach. Marie really didn’t have the breaking-and-entering personality at all. Unlike the man who owned this palace of white, glass and chrome.
“Honestly, would it kill him to have a little warmth in here?” Her voice seemed to reverberate through the empty flat, making the whole place seem a little creepy.
Shaking her head at her own errant thoughts, she told herself to focus on the reason for this little enterprise. She was there to find something she could use against Gianni Coretti. Sure. No problem. Police around the world had been trying and failing to get evidence against the Coretti family for years. Yet, she reminded herself, she already had one very interesting piece she knew would get Gianni’s attention. It had been luck, pure and simple, but sometimes luck was enough.
